


so suddenly.

by orphan_account



Series: tumblr requests. [77]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Childhood Friends, Short One Shot, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 08:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Idk how this work with fic requests and ideas, but eh I wanted to ask if you could do some hurt/comfort with Paul having messed up yesterday during a show and having a panic attack over it? Pretty pls you amazing writer?“





	so suddenly.

1965,

Something had caught in his throat and he croaked. Be it the smoke and heated air of the hundreds of fans that crowded the room or some stray dust- whatever it was, it messed up his singing and while the crowd reacted relatively forgiving, their eyes and confused looks stayed with him well after he had left the stage. He wanted to escape but yet he continued on and continued with the song but, God, Paul felt he could just about die. He couldn’t remember the last time he had screwed up performing nor could he remember the last time the anxiety and panic became so overwhelming he broke down and cried. Had it been when his mother died? When John’s mother did? He couldn’t recall anything but the pain that hammered into his chest; fiercely, like someone hammering nails into hard, unbending, wood. And it only grew as he held it in for the rest of the show. Pretending nothing was wrong as he sang and bopped along to the music, shaking his hair, and being extremely careful of not messing it up all over again. He could do ‘_Long Tall Sally_’, he could do ‘_What’d I Say_’ but, fucking hell, if he couldn’t do one of his very own.

After saying their goodbyes and farewells, he rushed off the stage and away from blinding lights- ignoring whatever had been spoken and yelled at him by several people as he ran to the dressing room and quickly made way into the cramped bathroom, locking the door and praying to be left alone. Though he knew that in the end- praying would be useless for he hardly ever had a minute for himself.

He wheezed and huffed and choked on his tears as the anxiety came over him like a deadly wave as he stared down the image staring back at him in the clear as day mirror. He looked a mess. Hair everywhere, and it did nothing when he brushed his hands forcefully against it in a ceaseless attempt to fix it. His face was red and bright and wet as the tears kept pouring down with no end in sight. He begged for peace and forgiveness as his body violently shook. He knew he messed up! He knew he had fucked up! But he could do better! _Please, let me do better_. The thoughts continued in rambles, in continuous mutterings. He was going to throw up- it was pointless trying to stop it as it rushed up through his throat and violently, painfully, down the sink. He looked at the disgusting mess disappear down the slim drain as he gasped for air and tasted the bitter taste in his mouth all over again.

He heard a banging, and a whisper of his name. But it was so quiet compared the thunder in his ears. Everything banged and banged in his head. He yelled loudly- it was pure nonsense, a mix of ‘_go away_’ and ‘_leave me alone_’ completely garbled up in his weeping and attempts at holding anything vile back. But it ignored, and he saw the handle to the door jiggle with increasing panic. Paul shut his eyes tight and took deep breaths and slowly felt the tension in ears and head relieve ever so slightly. It knocked again and he could only hiccup in response as a voice called out yet again; “Paul, it’s George… Please… let me in.” Paul shook his head and buried them deep between his knees, trying to force the world _away_. The doorknob rattled again and again before George repeated himself with a new addition- “I have a key… I’m coming in,” and so he did.

Paul kept his head down. He heard the younger man enter. He heard the door close. And then he heard no more. Had he left? Paul looked up and saw George looking down at Paul on the tile floor, silently and with a bottle of water in hand. His friend went down and sat on the floor next to him, hissing slightly at the cold temperature of the floor. “Here,” he said in a soft voice and reached to Paul with the bottle- of which Paul were immensely grateful though he said nothing but a croaking attempt of a _thank you_. George continued to sit in silence next to him but it was enough- and they both knew it. The comfort of George just _being there_ was enough for Paul to feel his heart calm down and his breathing get more relaxed and even. It had happened before- this Paul knew now. When his mother died, George was there for him. Just as he was now. He had been for him then and he was there for him now and if all went well; he would be there when they were both wrinkled and old.


End file.
